Shadow of a Glitch
by Ami E. Bowen
Summary: There were once two sisters. One was the responsible one, kind of boring, the other was a hyper, fun-loving gamer girl. A new game comes into their lives but before anyone gets to play it, something happens to change everyone's lives forever.
1. Chapter 1

SHADOW OF A GLITCH

Ami E. Bowen

It began much like any other Tuesday in the Turner household. I woke up, came downstairs and rummaged half-awake in the cupboards for the can of coffee and set the coffee-maker to brewing as I'd been too tired from work the night before to set it to auto-brew. Opening the fridge I heard the old floorboards creak as my sister emerged from around the corner, coming from her bedroom off the living room hallway. I turned, a jug of milk clutched in my hand, to greet my little sister Elizabeth as she slunk into the kitchen looking like hell, (and that'd be putting it mildly), and held out the now-opened container to her face; "Does this smell okay?"

"Ugh!" she waved the milk away and pulled a face, "Good morning to you, too, Davie! I just woke up! Let me at least have my coffee before you attack me with expired dairy!"

I sniffed tentatively at the milk and wrinkled my freckled nose in disgust. I guess cereal is out of the question today and I'll have to have my coffee black with sugar instead of with milk and sugar like I prefer it. "Why do you look so beat, Liz?" I asked, leaning over the counter in my pink plaid flannel pajamas to watch the coffee brewing, "You up gaming all night again?"

I glanced over at my sixteen year old sister and tried my best to look like the concerned older sister, but, the fact that we were only a year apart in age made that a little difficult. For her credit she did look abashed with her head down and her long, straight nearly white hair covering her blue eyes as she sat at the little kitchen table with her bare legs clad in purple pajama shorts crossed at the ankles beneath her chair, "I wasn't gaming, exactly," she says, her voice soft, "I was online researching a game that's supposed to be coming out soon,"

I smiled and dig two clean mugs from the dish washer. Our parents would be up soon. I made sure to make a full pot. I poured two cups and handed Elizabeth her's along with the sugar bowl and a clean spoon.

"What game?" I asked, already knowing I'd regret the question. Elizabeth cradled her coffee mug in both hands, leaning over the table in her purple imitation silk baby doll pajama top. I could see gooseflesh littering the freckles of her skinny arms. Her eyes brightened as she opened her mouth to reply.

My sister and I are like night and day and not only in the looks department. Elizabeth was like a petite little dwarf or elf you'd find in one of those fantasy role playing books; all wispy blonde hair, big baby blue eyes and an impish smile on her round face most of the time. She was short for her age and was often mistaken for being about three grades lower than her current grade. Our parents keep insisting that Elizabeth, like me, would have a growth spurt soon and shoot up like a weed. Well, considering how tall I grew after I turned twelve, and kept growing up until just last year, I can't help but think that most of Elizabeth's would-be height had been given to me instead!

So, at sixteen my sister still looked twelve or thirteen and normally had the temperament of a sweet, yet mischievous little elf. All that was missing were a pair of green leather pointed ankle boots, (with or without bells), and some tapered ears. I, on the other hand, was more akin to a lumbering giant by comparison. I mean, there's nothing wrong with my weight or my height, but, I admit to being a little on the higher end of the scale. "Big boned" our grandmother calls it, striving to be diplomatic, and my hair was cut shoulder length and had natural dark brown waves that, unfortunately, frizzed out something awful in humidity or whenever I take a hair dryer to it after a shower. My complexion was less peaches and cream and more leftover chai latte with a dusting of freckles across my cheeks and nose. It's just that when compared to my little sister I often feel… lacking. But, I try not to let that bother me too much.

"Davie!" I became aware of Elizabeth glaring at me and realized she'd been talking for a full minute while I silently stirred my coffee, leaning against the island bar/counter in our kitchen, ruminating on our sibling differences, "Are you even listening to me?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," I lied, "You're excited about a new video game. Sounds great, Lizzie,"

She rolled her eyes at me and blew her long bangs out of her face in exasperation.  
>"Okay, if you were really listening," she starts and I recognize the challenge in her voice, "What's the game and what's it about, huh?"<p>

Oh, good god, it's too early in the morning for this, I thought as I took a small sip of my still-too-hot coffee and pulled back with a sigh. It was still good, but it's always better with milk or creamer. Like pizza; plain cheese pizza is still good, but it's much better with pepperoni, or whatever you're into. "Uh," I hedge, glancing at the clock on the microwave, we had to start getting ready for school soon, "I didn't catch the name, but, it's about fighting the forces of darkness and making sure good triumphs and… and… lots of fighting and maybe some magic and…an epic quest full of adventure and probably some aliens and space battles…."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Elizabeth interrupted, wiping spilled coffee off her face and the table in front of her after she began laughing halfway through my explanation and shooting the hot, dark liquid out of her nose. I guess her's had cooled down faster than mine. "You just described just about every video game scenario in existence!"

"'Just about'?" I ask, trying for innocent and naïve as I drink a bit more of my coffee before setting it on the counter to fish the bread and butter from the cupboard and began making the toast. I open the fridge again to pull out the carton of eggs our mother bought just last week, "I thought I covered them all. Yours must be in there somewhere,"

"You forgot zombies," Elizabeth grinned, showing off the dimple that likes to play hide and seek in her left cheek, "How could you forget the zombies, Davie?"

"I was just getting to them before you interrupted me," I said, buttering a slice of toast and handing it to her, "Is your new game a zombie game?" I asked in concern, just as our parents round the corner into the kitchen, "You know Mom and Dad don't want you playing horror games,"

"Who's playing horror games?" our mother perked up, eyeing the coffee like a drug addict, her gray terry cloth robe's belt cinched tight about her thin waist. She poured herself and our father a cup of coffee, black, and spun her laser beam eyes on my sister, "Elizabeth, you know how we feel about horror games. They give you nightmares. Every time you've played them or watched others playing them you couldn't sleep for weeks!"

Elizabeth sighed and rolled her eyes so far back I wasn't sure she'd be able to retrieve them again. I'd have to ask her how she did that, and lurched noisily up from her place at the table, dropping toast crumbs on the floor from her lap where they'd fallen to as she ate.

"God, Mom! I'm not playing any horror games! Okay?" she set her mug on the counter by mine and made her way towards the living room and her bedroom, "God, you're all so lame!" We heard before her door slammed.

"Hey!" our Dad yelled, "Don't pull me into this! I just got up!"  
>"Honey," our mother licked her palm and then smoothed down her husband's thinning salt and pepper hair, "We all just got up,"<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

It was about two hours past the final bell at our high school and I was exhausted but Elizabeth had asked me to come along with her to Playful Games, our town's local, and only, gaming store. It wasn't very large and run by a friend of our Dad's from when he went to high school, but, it had a nice selection of toys, games and some anime/manga stuff. I even spied some vintage collectables like old tin character lunchboxes and some action figures from bygone eras only our parents' peer group really recalls.

I hiked my purse up onto my shoulder and reached out to finger a Jem and the Holograms lunchbox while keeping my sister's dark green puffed jacket and her matching knit cap in view as she stood on her tip-toes to examine the video game section of the store.

I had no idea what game she was so keen on buying but she had mentioned at lunch this afternoon that it was coming out today and that she'd been saving her money from her part-time job at McDonald's just for today. Our parents had stopped giving us an allowance as soon as we turned fifteen and were old enough to start looking for part time, after school work.

As it turned out today was a Tuesday and we both had days off for the next three days. We were able to work our schedule out like that, even though I work in a bookstore and she works fast food, due to the negotiation skills of our mother, who works as a paralegal in our town's law firm. Our father was a writer, or, as he called it; a novelist. Our mother just called him; "That man who hangs around in his pajamas all day muttering to himself". Affectionately, of course.

"Davie, Davie, I found it!" I jumped slightly and brought my hand back down to my side and turned to see a grinning Elizabeth practically bouncing with excitement, a wide smile plastered across her face, her nose still a bit red from the chill outside, "It was the very last copy! Thank god I didn't listen to you and come tomorrow instead!"

I shrugged apologetically in my gray wool poncho and glanced at the video game case she was clutching to her small chest. It was a Legend of Zelda game and had a strange-looking vaguely sinister heart-shaped mask on the cover behind the Z in the word Zelda, which was written in large purple font. I couldn't place it but that game cover design looked familiar to me. I then noticed the rest of the title, "Majora's Mask" and wrinkled my brow at my sister, "I thought you said you were getting a new game? This doesn't look very new to me. How much did you pay for this?"

"Oh, this?" she looked down at the game in her hands and moved so that I realized she had been holding not one but two games. One was a bit smaller and was for the X-Box she'd gotten for Christmas last year, "I was talking about the new Mutant Ponies: Liberation Fury game that just came out. I've been dying to play it ever since screenshots of it were leaked on Twitter three months ago!"

"Then what's that?" I ask, prodding the older game with a finger, "You've never played a Zelda game in your life!"

"Well, yeah, but," she paused, chewing her lip, and shrugged, "I don't know. Maybe I'd like to try one and this was on sale for less than five bucks,"

"But, it's for the Nintendo 64," I tried to reason, not wanting my sister, who had a tendency towards impulsivity, to waste any of her hard-earned money, "May I remind you that between us all we've got is your X-Box and my PlayStation 3?"

"You're forgetting about Dad's console," she grinned, and was it my imagination or was there a little gleam in her eyes for just a heartbeat of a second? It was clear that she considered herself the victor of this little game store battle.

"I'm sure Dad wouldn't mind me bringing his N64 out of storage and giving it new life," When I think about this day, after all that's happened, that one phrase of my sister's keeps ringing in my ears. If only she'd known just how right she'd be.

"Are you ladies ready?" came the voice of the sales' clerk who'd appeared next to us as we were talking, rather loudly it would seem as I realized half the store's patrons' eyes were surreptitiously on us. I felt my cheeks heat and mumbled a quick affirmative in an apologetic tone as I followed them to the register. I stood back a bit as my sister handed over the games to be scanned and exchanged them back again for her last eighty dollars.

The sales' clerk paused a fraction of a second before scanning the Majora's Mask game and I stopped in front of her on our way out, "That game," I began and by my look I guess she knew I wasn't talking about the Mutant Pony one, "Can you tell me why it was so cheap?" Even previously played games normally sold for a lot more than a dollar fifty unless you bought them at yard sale or something.

"Well, all I can tell you for certain," she lowered her voice in the now nearly empty store, "is that a young man came in sometime last year and just left it on the counter and ran off. We've tried to sell it numerous times but every time it's either been returned or has just shown up somehow. We finally decided to try getting rid of it as a promo option and you girls are the first to "bite" so to speak,"

Her words twisted something in my stomach but I couldn't say exactly what. I wished I'd stopped Elizabeth from buying that game. There was just something off about a game that seems to keep reappearing when you're sure you've gotten rid of it. "Aren't you afraid of it coming back again?" I dared to ask, feeling my hands begin to sweat. She shook her head and her dark eyes grew dim and far away before answering.

"No," she said, looking at me and then at my sister who was waiting near the door reading the back of the new Pony game she'd been so keen on getting, "Something tells me it's found where it's meant to be," she turned back to me as the bells on the store's door tinkled and two new potential customers made their way in from the cold November afternoon, "Have a nice day! Please come again!"

I thanked her and made my way back to my younger sister, the sales' clerk's cryptic words spinning in my head. _What a freak show_, I thought and followed Elizabeth to the car, _does she get a commission on how many people she can creep out or what? _I drove in silence for a while as Elizabeth fiddled with the radio before settling on an oldies station. "The sales lady said that one Zelda game keeps getting returned," I spoke up, "That's why it was so cheap. Don't you think that's weird?"

"Not really," she said, playing with her fingernails and biting at her thumbnail's cuticle, "It might just be a really crappy game, or a really hard game,"

"I wonder why they didn't just throw it away if they couldn't sell it?" I pondered as I turned down our driveway. It was getting close to dinner time and my stomach rumbled in recognition of the lateness of the hour.

"It's a small store in a small town," my sister reasoned, "They probably can't afford to be tossing out merchandise. Even less than five bucks is money,"

"I suppose so," I reluctantly agreed. She hadn't seen that lady's face when I started asking about that game, "Are you going to play it first?"  
>She gave me a mock shocked expression, "Are you kidding? I've been waiting forever to get my hands on Mutant Ponies: Liberation Fury! I can't wait to start playing it!"<p>

I smiled briefly as I turned the key in the ignition to shut the motor off. Unbuckling my seatbelt I reached into the backseat for the packages we'd bought while we were out today. A couple bags included our family's dinner for tonight. Elizabeth thought it might be nice to surprise Mom and Dad with their favorite take-and-bake pizza tonight; Tomato Spinach Alfredo on a thin crust from Papa Murphy's, the only one we have in our little neck of the woods, which is clear across town.

"I'll need to gas up tomorrow," I said, glaring at the gas gage, "Can you pitch in since I took you to buy your precious game?"

"Sure," she said, getting out of the car. I followed suit. "I have some leftover from today," she finished, fishing in her coat pocket and bringing a fist-full of wadded up bills out with a grin, "I think there's about sixteen or seventeen bucks here,"

"Well, every little bit helps," I said as she walked past me, shoving the money down my coat collar as she went. "Hey!" I yelled at her retreating rear end, "What am I? A freaking stripper?!"

"Don't knock strippers!" came her saucy reply from the doorway as she dug her keys out of her other coat pocket, (I swear, is she allergic to handbags?!), "They make more money than we'll ever see and besides, your hands are full!"

"Um, you could offer to carry something," I pouted as I followed her through the foyer into the living room and turning towards the kitchen. "I didn't want to hurt your pride," Elizabeth shook her head and parted from me in the hallway, heading to her bedroom, "Besides, it looked like you had it under control,"

I bit back another scathing retort, knowing it would just fuel the fire that was my sister when she's being bratty.

"Dad! We're home!" I called, We both knew Mom would still be at work, before I saw the slip of typing paper that had been wedged between the screen and doorjamb of the front door and was now laying on the floor having been trampled by our shoes as we'd come through the door. I picked it up and read it. "Oh, Dad's gone to some kind of author's convention," I told Elizabeth, "Said it was last minute and that he already spoke with Mom about it and will be home in about a week,"

"He's still trying to sell that manuscript," she said a bit sadly, yet at the same time hopefully, "Well, more pizza for us!"  
>She continued towards her bedroom with her new games.<p>

Shedding my coat and leaving my purse on the entryway closet doorknob, I yelled something about calling her out for dinner and that she better get on her homework before Mom gets home and I heard her grumble something about me treating her like she was six instead of sixteen and acting like her second Mom or something. "I'm just trying to be a good sister!" I yell, but, it's no use as her door's already been slammed closed, shaking the arrangement of family photos we have on our hallway walls for a moment.

I busied myself setting the oven and unwrapping the pizzas. I'd bought two. It should be enough for four people, I thought as I heard the unmistakable sounds of a video game starting up and muffled cries of delight from my little gamer sister. I rolled my eyes and went about setting the table.

That done, I fetch my backpack from my bedroom where I'd left it after school and sat down at the kitchen table to start my homework. I could hear the TV in Elizabeth's bedroom on full volume, blasting the sounds of digital firepower and cheerful midi music through our somewhat small house. I considered going over to tell her to turn it down but then thought, oh, what's the harm? It's still early, we were the only ones here and she'd been waiting awhile to play that game. Might as well let her have some fun. I smiled at the mental image of my sister hard at work trying to beat her new game.


	3. Chapter 3

I was halfway finished with my geometry assignment when my cell phone rang from the front right pocket of my jeans. I fished it out as I recognized my Mom's ringtone. "Mom?"

"Hi, honey," she said in her normally breathless way, "I'm just calling to let you and your sister know that I'll be home a little later than usual tonight_. Someone _forgot to proofread the Anderson file!" she said this last bit angrily and stressed the word 'someone'. I heard frantic apologies from whom I assumed was that 'someone' almost out of hearing range of her phone. "I'm sorry, Davina, you'll have to fend for yourselves tonight for dinner,"

"It's okay, Mom," I said, feeling a little let down that we weren't going to be sharing a family meal together after all, but, I could deal with it, "Don't work too hard!"

"Thank you, sweetie," she said before hanging up, "I'll try to peek in on you and your sister and say goodnight if I get home after you girls are in bed," After a few more meaningless pleasantries we both hung up and the oven timer beeped.

I noticed it was getting dark outside as I glanced out the kitchen window by the table. I put one of the pizzas in the oven and shut the oven door. As I was reaching up to set the timer I thought I caught a glimpse of some white flashing past that same window.  
>Turning my head to look properly all I saw was the side of our yard and our next door neighbor's five-foot chain link fence. I resisted the urge to rub my eyes, telling myself it was probably just one of the neighbor kids running around before being called inside to dinner. At least, that's what I told myself.<p>

I decided to peek in on Elizabeth while the pizza cooked, since for the past half an hour as I did my homework at the kitchen table she'd been unusually quiet. Oh, the video game noises continued, seemingly being played in a constant short loop, but the sounds of my sister's squealing and screaming at the screen in happy annoyance was strangely absent. I thought maybe she'd just paused the game to look up some cheat codes on YouTube and hadn't bothered turning the volume down.

I walked through the small living room, clicking on the tall halogen lamp situated at the base of the corridor that led to our bedrooms, as I went, casting a small flood of light across a section of the hallway. As I approached her doorway a scant breeze filtered out from between the crack in her partially opened bedroom door.

"Liz?" I called, shivering at the cold, "Why is it so cold in here? Liz? Can you turn that down so I can talk to you?"

I nudged the door open with the toe of my shoe and stepped into the space of her room. The TV screen, a plasma flatscreen she'd received for her last birthday faced the doorway so I could see that her game was still running. It was the only light on in her room and I wondered why she hadn't at least turned her bedside reading lamp on since it was after four o'clock when we got home and normally starts getting dark around that time.

"Elizabeth?" I could see the top of her blonde head from where she always sat in the old ratty green stuffed recliner we'd found at a thrift store last year. It was her favorite chair and though our Dad had bought it for himself, he soon realized how much his younger daughter liked it and within the first month it had joined the rest of her mismatched bedroom furniture. My eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimness, the flickering of the game on the TV set casting eerie shadows and light across my sister's chair.

A sharp breeze rustled her red and white Hello Kitty curtains and I realized the window was open. Why would her window be open? I wondered and turned my attention back to my sister.

"Liz, did you fall asleep or something?" I yelled over the TV, looking around briefly for the remote to turn it down. Only my sister could nod off to ear-splitting video game racket. "And why is your window open? It's freezing in here!"

I thought I could hear something coming from my sister. A snore? She'd always been a snorer. But, this sounded less like that of someone lost to sleep. It sounded… aware… and…somehow desperate, though only in retrospect did I realize this. In the moment I didn't know what to think or if I even did think at all.

I found the remote on the floor by her chair. I muted the volume. That's much better. Now I can hear myself think. But, it wasn't better. Not at all. My first thought, frantically grasping at any possibility than the one I knew, almost on a subconscious level, to be the truth, was that she was playing some kind of childish prank on me. Knowing I would come call her to dinner soon she… she what? Turned up the volume on her TV and pretended to be asleep with her fake snoring just so she could pop out and startle me?  
>I mentally shook my head at how stupid that was.<p>

I reached out to touch her shoulder and wake her up and felt my blood turn to ice water. Her head lolled doll-like to one side, the hand holding the video game controller fell limp across the arm of the chair. Even before I walked around to the front of the chair I had felt something wet drop onto the back of my hand that was still touching her shoulder. I drew my hand back and looked down at the wetness. I couldn't comprehend, at first, what I was seeing until a moist, gurgling sound filled the air.

I slowly lifted my eyes to my sister's face and felt a scream struggling to work it's way up past my stopped heart and quickened breathing, my lungs seemed to ache for want of oxygen, the back of my tongue tasted like a copper coin and I fought the urge to vomit up my school lunch. Elizabeth's head rested on her shoulders cocked at an unnatural angle, her long hair fell across her forehead and down one side of her face. Oh, god… her face…I stared at her in utter disbelief. I didn't want to look. Please don't make me look! I fought with myself to remain in control. Don't lose it just yet, Davie, I thought, she's still alive, that's what that gurgling sound was, she's trying to breathe.

But, even as this exchange ran through my head I knew it was too late to help her. The wetness on my hand? That had been my sister's blood. Her favorite Mutant Ponies T-shirt was saturated with it. Her throat had been cut. Slashed. Her face, I knew I had to look again and this time really understand what I was looking at, her face had been mutilated. Two crude slices, running from the corners of her lips to the edges of her jawline graced her alabaster tinted face. I became aware of her eyes. They were large, terrified and, though the light in them was swiftly fading as the life blood ran not only from her throat but from the cuts in her cheeks, she wasn't looking at me.

I knew I should be screaming, crying, carrying on, begging her to hold on, to stay with me. I should be on the phone with the police right now. I should be sobbing my eyes out as I clutch my younger sister to me. All the books and movies are very clear about how we should behave in situations like this, aren't they? But, I didn't do any of that. I simply stood there in her partially dark room and stared at her. At her eyes. What was she looking at? As she sat bleeding out in her favorite chair in front of her much-anticipated new video game with her only sibling right in front of her standing in shocked silence, what the hell was she looking at?

Almost as though my body were on autopilot, I turned and followed Elizabeth's line of sight. The window. The flash of white I thought I'd seen earlier. There, for a fraction of a second, a small gasp of breath, I saw a face, pale and leering through the open window. Before escaping into the surrounding darkness I had seen, on that face, a carved smile exactly like the one on my dying sister.


	4. Chapter 4

I sat in a cocoon of silence on the living room sofa, a thick, gray, itchy police-issue blanket wrapped around my shoulders. My mother was speaking with the same officer who'd draped the blanket around me, a kindly-looking older gentleman with graying dark hair and crows' feet at the corners of his sharp blue eyes.

He held a pad and paper and I watched mutely as the tip of his pink tongue kept snaking out from between his thick lips to wet the end of his pencil. The house was crowded with adults in different uniforms, scrambling in and out of Elizabeth's bedroom carrying mysterious plastic boxes with hazard signs on them and speaking to each other of the "crime scene" and the "latest victim". Latest victim? I felt that phrase register through the fog and turned to look at my mother and the policeman, "What do they mean, latest victim?"

My mother's face became even more pale and I could tell she was barely holding on. I felt guilty that she had to be so strong for me. I heard the snap-flash of cameras going off and knew they were documenting the scene to go over later in the hopes of anything they missed.  
>"Your sister's not the first…" the officer, whose nametag read Officer O'Grady, tried, "We've been chasing the son of a bitch who did this for months now, but he always manages to give us the slip. Most of his kills had been a few counties over in Weston and Elgin, we think he kills and then hides out in his victims houses for awhile before moving on. This seems like his first kill here in Athena. We're hoping to stop him before he decides to head into Washington. I'm sure the Spokane police department would just love that,"<p>

"Please," my mother's voice, as she interrupted Officer O'Grady's dialog, was harsh, and it hitched in her throat, "Not now. I need to call my husband…. he's across town staying at the bed and breakfast for a writers' convention being held there...I have to tell him..."

"You should take your daughter into the kitchen to make that call," my stomach turned at the scent of now burnt pizza and I didn't want to go into the kitchen, "They're about to bring the bo…your sister… out,"

"Come on, sweetheart," my mother touched my elbow, trying to get me to stand up from the sofa and follow her, "You don't need to see this…"  
>I ignored her, (had she forgotten that I was the one who'd basically found her? I'd already seen the worst of her face), and watched as a gurney was led down the hallway and into Elizabeth's bedroom. A few minutes later I heard muffled cursing and what sounded like; "Won't let go," and "Rigor mortis,"<p>

As soon as they pushed the now occupied gurney into the hallway and began moving past the living room where I still sat and my mother stood near me, I could see what the CSI team had been talking about. Clutched in my sister's hand, as it dangled over the side of the cot, was the game controller for the N64, our father's old game console.

I had thought…I could have sworn she'd been playing that Mutant Pony game… hadn't she been? My head felt fuzzy as I struggled to remember merely a few hours ago. I really only glanced at the screen and I've never been much for video games. I use my PS3 mostly for watching Netflix. I was more concerned for my oddly still sister at the time. I do remember that annoying midi music file being looped endlessly, though.

"Wait!" I cried, standing up, pausing my thoughts and forcing myself to step closer, I needed to see her, needed to say goodbye while I still knew how. I bowed my head as I whispered to my sister not to be afraid and that she's in a better place right now.

As I said these final words, I reached out to touch her cold, dead form under the plastic zippered bag, ran my hand down to clutch her small cold one around the video game controller. Her slim fingers had sealed tight… as death… around it and there was no separating it unless they broke her fingers.

I shuddered at the thought and a sudden jolt of static electricity jolted up from the controller, across my hand, up my arm and swam through me. It wasn't enough to knock me down, but it was enough to make me cry out in surprised pain. As I watched, a crackling spiral of electricity spun around the game controller and, in turn, my dead sibling.

I yanked my hand away and stared in sadness and horror. "Must be the batteries…" one of the crime scene investigators offered, weakly, "Or… or something…" I just nodded, not paying attention to the people around me. One of them was speaking with my mother.

"Ma'am, the game controller is… held too tightly to pry out without… without damaging the remains… uh… your daughter."  
>He looked very ill at ease, as though he'd rather be anywhere but here at this job. He was young, too. No older than me or Elizabeth. It was probably his first time "in the field" I thought bitterly. "It's really up to you, but, we can't wait too much longer… the body… your daughter… if you want an open casket funeral…" he stumbled over his words.<p>

"An open casket funeral?" my mother's normally soft voice turned to ice and even though she was a petite woman at that moment she seemed to tower over the young man, "Have you seen her face? Are you completely nuts or just fucking stupid?!"

I had never heard my mother curse. I guess I couldn't blame her for it though, she had just lost her youngest child. I lost my sister and best friend. I felt like cursing too.

"Ma'am, we're sorry for your loss, but we need to know…."

"Don't touch it!" I yelled, looking up from where I'd stayed on the floor after falling over from that weird shock, "You leave her game controller in her hand where it belongs!"

My mother looked from me to the table holding her deceased daughter in a partially zipped plastic bag and back to me. Finally she turned to the officer who'd been speaking to us, "Davie's right. Don't take it from her. It was her favorite… thing to… do…" her voice cracked at the end of her sentence just as the front door burst open and my father, his face pale, wearing only a pair of black trousers and an untucked striped black and white dress shirt and his black running shoes, dropped his duffle bag just inside the doorway and ran to embrace my mother and myself for a good long moment before turning towards the gurney.

He didn't say anything but began unzipping the part of the bag that hid her face from view. I wanted to warn him but no words would come. My mother and I had been forced to look upon the monstrous visage my sister's once-pretty face had been carved into, why should we be the only ones to suffer that memory?

As we watched, he seemed to shiver in revulsion before regaining some of his self-control and smoothing a tendril of blonde hair from her now-closed, dead eyes.

As we watched my sister being rolled out the front door, my father spoke to the older, grandfatherly-looking officer, "Do you know who did that to my little girl?" My mother hiccupped a sob as her husband went on, "Do you have any leads at all or are you all just chasing your tails here?"

"Your daughter… Davie, spoke with one of our best sketch artists and her description of the man she saw in her sister's window matches other eyewitness reports across the state of Oregon. He is most likely the same man whose been eluding us for months," the officer had chosen to diplomatically ignore my father's jab at his occupation as he went on, "In such a small area, looking like he does, it's hard to imagine he won't be caught soon," the sketch artist in question sat nearby clutching her sketchpad to her chest. She pulled off the image she'd drawn and passed it to my father.

"Due to the 'notes' he sometimes leaves behind, signed with a first name, the newspapers have given him the nickname...Jeff," he finished darkly, "Jeff, the killer,"

"I want this…. Jeff…the killer… dead,"

"We all do, Mr. Turner, we all do…."


	5. Chapter 5

For the next few weeks I didn't go back to school. Officially I was on what was termed a "bereavement break" and my parents were assured by my teachers that my grades wouldn't suffer. But, even if they would there's no way I could bring myself to go. Not without my sister. Not so soon after her passing. The memorial we held for her last week was small yet beautiful with her friends from school and their parents and a few of our extended family who still lived close by.

I was able to say a more public goodbye knowing in my heart that I'd said goodbye to her as I watched her bleeding out in front of her TV screen that horrible Tuesday evening in November. I remembered trying to leave the room to fetch my phone which I'd left on the kitchen counter with my homework and Elizabeth grasping at the hem of my shirt. I knew by the look in her eyes that she knew she was dying and didn't want to meet that unknown alone. So, instead of calling someone right away I chose to stay and be with my sister until she passed from this world.

I tried not to dwell on my sister's passing, but everything around me reminded me of her in some way. My father was on the phone with the man in charge of the investigation of her murder every day and Mom had called a security company to have the windows and doors rigged with alarms. The front and back doors both had high pitched alarms with a complicated set of numbers and letters one had to punch into the access box on both sides of the doors to disengage them and open the doors. If one were to open one of the doors without punching in the correct sequence, or they tried and failed more than three times the police were informed

"I'm trying to keep you safe," she'd explained when the installation was complete, "I just wish we'd thought of this sooner…"  
>I felt bad for my parents. The guilt they felt over not being here when Elizabeth was murdered weighed heavily on them, in their tired, bloodshot eyes and in the way they were now, constantly coddling me and seemed afraid to let me out of their sight for more than a moment at a time. Every day Mom locked herself in the bathroom with the water running in an attempt to muffle her sobs and my father hadn't touched his word processor in weeks.<p>

"How can I even think about writing?" he confessed to his coffee one morning as we were, all three, planning our day, "Until that killer is caught and taken off the streets for good, everything I try to write just feels so... trivial,"

Mom reached across the kitchen table to squeeze his hand. No more words needed to be exchanged. Mom was in her black jacket and golden blouse with matching pencil skirt and low-heeled black pumps. Her briefcase sat at her feet by her chair. She'd twisted her dark brown hair up into a chignon at the base of her neck and her eyeglasses hung from a chain resting on her small breasts. Her time off from work for a family death ended this morning and she'd even done her makeup a little, but, it couldn't fully hide the puffiness around her blue eyes or the new wrinkles between her brows. I knew she wasn't looking forward to going back to work, but, well, as the saying goes; life, for the living, goes on.

"What are your plans for the day, sweetheart?" My mother asked me, using the tone of voice she often used when I was younger and was sick or hurt myself. Ever since I spoke with the investigators and told them everything that had happened, the entire story from beginning to end without interruptions, my parents were treating me like I was a fragile house of cards, as if one wrong move or word would send me toppling over and off the deep end. I suppose they had a valid reason to worry. It wasn't every day that their daughter finds her sister dying of a sliced neck and a Glasgow Smile carved into her face.

They'd even booked me an appointment with a head doctor. It was next Monday. I didn't really relish the idea of spilling my guts out to a stranger with a pad and pencil. Oh, I had nothing against psychologists or psychiatrists or mental health workers of any kind, it was just that I tended to internalize my problems and feelings and compartmentalize them until I could deal with them on my own, one by one. I couldn't see how talking to someone I've never met could help with that. But, I'll still go. To make my parents worry less, I'll go.

"I thought I'd go online and check out colleges," I answered between bites of my cereal. I took a sip of my coffee and sighed, "I want to apply soon since my senior year starts up next September," There was a moment of silence as each of us thought about Elizabeth never being able to go to college or even finish growing up. I had to stomp out feelings of survivor's guilt all the time now or I'd never get anything done. I'm sure my parents were handling theirs in much the same way.

"You'll have better luck applying to several different schools," Dad piped up, wiping some crumbs from his toast off his upper lip. He looked like he'd forgotten to shave this morning, but with his fair complexion and hair, it was only really noticeable when you were up close to him. "Find a few you really like and apply to all of them and then apply to a few more just in case, to fall back on,"

"Okay, thanks, Dad, I will," I wiped my own mouth with my napkin and swiped it down the front of my shirt over the logo of my favorite band, "Sweaty Nipples", written in dark purple font emblazoned against the black fabric of the t-shirt. I stood up and began gathering everyone's breakfast dishes. Dad's cell phone started ringing just as Mom came up behind me as I was loading the dishwasher and reached her head around me to give me a quick peck on the cheek.

"You have my cell number," she said by way of goodbye, "Call me if you need to, Davina, I mean it. Your father may or may not be here all the time today, so, you keep the doors and windows locked and don't even think about going anywhere alone." I nodded and gave her a hug. I could feel how thin she'd become.

We'd learned on the night of Elizabeth's death that there had been killings similar to Elizabeth's in the next town over for the past six to eight months, but, he'd been spacing them out to about a kill a month, and my family, being who we were, didn't really watch the news or pay much attention to the stories as we'd all so stupidly thought, in the back of our heads; That could never happen here!

My sister's death was the first one in our town that matched the MO of what the killer did to his victims. He didn't seem biased either, he'd killed an even number of female to male victims. "You heard what those policemen said about that Jeff character hiding out somewhere in Athena," she finished, releasing me to pick up her briefcase again. Her eyes looked sad and scared at the same time.

She reached out to brush a lock of hair out of my eyes and held her warm hand momentarily against my cheek, "I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you," she practically whispered, and tears sprang to my eyes at her words, "You're all I have left, sweetheart. Please, if you have to go somewhere today and no one's available to accompany you, take your car. Don't walk. And make sure you keep all the doors in the car locked at all times. Or better yet, wait until someone can go with you."

I promised her all of that to try and ease her mind as I knew she was being extra clingy and concerned with me due to having to leave me to go into work today. I was her only living child after losing her second to a serial killer, her behavior was annoying, but I understood it.

"I'll be home around five," she went on, "I'll bring home Chinese for dinner tonight."

"That was Officer O'Grady," my father said, snapping shut his old Nokia cell phone he'd had since forever, "He wanted to inform me that four more bodies were found this morning. A family with two young children, ages 8 and 12 had been found dead with the same cuts to their necks and… face… as Elizabeth. They're pretty sure they died sometime last night, in their beds,"

He swallowed before going on, "There's something else…the killer…Jeff, left another message; 'Unfinished'. The police assume it's his way of taunting us, saying we'll never catch him and he'll never stop… stop killing,"

I swallowed hard. I had a feeling I knew exactly what that word meant. It was a message all right, but it was aimed at me, at my family, not the police. He had left this job "unfinished" and he'd be back, eventually, to "finish". My heart seemed to seize in my chest before I remembered we were protected by the fancy alarm system now. I forced myself to breathe.

I watched my mother's face change to an even whiter shade of pale as my father went on, "He wanted to let us know before we saw it on the news and to prepare ourselves for another possible media wave that's sure to follow as we were the first people in our town to become victims to Jeff the killer."

I thought back to the days following the memorial service and all the reporters and flashing cameras. The police had drilled each of us in the art of the "No comment" and I used it without fail and in abundance so often that the words no longer held much meaning for me.

"I'll be in my study," my Dad said, moving to kiss me on the crown of my head, the study was what he called the room in our basement he retreated to for his writing and whatever else he did down there. I know he had a lot of books and a pool table and a large oak desk with a matching leather chair, both of which were a bitch to move down there according to my mother, "If anyone needs me."

"Have a good day at work, hon," he said, kissing my mother before he headed down, "Follow your own advice about not going anywhere alone and locking your car at all times. We don't know anything about this psychopath other than how he kills, but, what's to stop him from attacking in the daylight, anywhere? We can't be too careful,"

Mom chewed her lip and nodded in agreement. It hurt to see how terrified they both were. This killer hadn't only taken away my little sister, he'd effectively trapped my family in a prison of their own fears. In fact, I was willing to bet that the entire town was feeling the terror and oppression.

After the kitchen was put back in order I was left to my own devices. I was still planning on checking into colleges on the computer. I needed to stop thinking about that killer and my sister. I began to walk past her bedroom on the way to my own when I noticed something odd. The door was ajar and I could see flickering colors from the television set, which had been turned on.

I know for a fact that my mother closed up Elizabeth's room the day she died and, by unspoken agreement, no one had crossed its threshold since the police finished up in there. She had even left our Dad's video game console in there and my father hasn't brought it up, I think it's still too painful to even think about removing something from the veritable shrine to my sister's life her former bedroom has become.

But, that door shouldn't be open and that TV definitely shouldn't be on. Something wasn't right. As I stepped into the room, the bedside lamp flickered on and then back off again. I glanced at it and was thankful that it was morning instead of the middle of the night. Not only was the TV on but the title screen a video game which had been inserted into the Nintendo 64, was playing with the sound muted.

I remember turning off the sound on that TV the might Elizabeth passed away. I was also pretty sure it had been the new Pony game she'd been playing that night, but the X-Box was sitting on her dresser, its cords dangling down into her half open underwear and socks drawer. I stood there watching the game as it loaded up the save files section. There were two save files:

**LIZ **  
><strong>BEN<strong>

I didn't really think about who Ben was as I guessed he'd been the last person to own the game, but, I did wonder why Elizabeth had decided not to delete it. It's not as if this Ben was going to be playing this game again any time soon. I was also sad that she'd only gotten less than a fraction of the way through the game.

I stood in front of the chair Elizabeth had died in and stared at the screen for a good three minutes, wondering what to do. The screen suddenly shimmered and the imprint of a small pixilated, cartoonish hand appeared for less than a second before it went back to normal. Shaking my head at what I could only assume was my over-active imagination fueled by stress and grief, I pressed the button to turn off the game and then I did the same for the TV. As I was leaving the room, an abrupt, chill breeze fluttered the bottoms of Elizabeth's My Mutant Pony posters.

I didn't know what to think. I was so confused and tired. Even though I'd just barely woken up since it was after nine a.m. I felt drained already and headed to my own bedroom next door where I flopped down on my bed, shoving thoughts of looking into colleges to the side for now.

I had slept for a good three hours but something had roused me. It was a chiming sound coming from my phone. I'd turned notifications off after word spread of Elizabeth's passing because I couldn't handle all the messages flooding in from sympathetic kids from school and everyone else who'd known Elizabeth and who knew me. But, this one showed up and kept chiming at me until, sitting on the end of my bed, I tapped my finger on it to cease its annoying attention-seeking ringing. It was a link to a website and apparently I had clicked on it when I was trying to quiet the notification's chimes. My phone's browser opened up and I saw the name of the site.

**Cleverbot**

_Oh,_ I thought_, one of those computer-run chat games_. I thought maybe one of my friends from school had sent me here to try and help me forget about everything for awhile…my thought cut off as the program finished loading and one line in cornflower blue font stood out to me, the cursor blinking impatiently at me below.

**Why didn't you play?**


	6. Chapter 6

I stared at my phone, at those words, my sleep-addled brain struggling to make sense of them. I hadn't activated that program so why was it talking to me? Was it some random hacker having some fun at my expense?

**I don't know who you are, but you better stop this! **

I typed, feeling myself growing irritated. I don't feel like putting up with some bored kid's crap.

**You'll find out soon enough and no, I won't stop this.**

I glared and slammed my finger down on the exit page button. There, you little shit! I thought in triumph, I'll just ignore you!

Before I could put my phone away the site reloaded itself.

**You can't ignore me, Davie. **

I nearly dropped my phone. There's no way…

Before I could stop myself, I was typing in a reply.

**How do you know my name? Do I know you? Do you go to my school? **

**I don't go to your school, Davie, but I do know a lot about you.**

**Who is this? **

**You want to know my name?**

**Yes, dammit!**

**BEN. My name is BEN. **

Ben? I thought, as I remembered that save file on that game Elizabeth bought. It couldn't be the same Ben, could it? Was he trying to get his game back? Well, he can have it back if he wants it!

**Are you looking for that game? You can have it if you want it. I'll never play it. **

**You have to.**

**Why?**

**Because if you don't you'll never see your sister again. **

**My sister's dead, you idiot! **

**Dead, but not gone. **

**What are you talking about? **

I felt a more than a little foolish talking to someone who was obviously trying to goad me into losing it. It wasn't going to work. These past few weeks have lessened my patience for pranks.

**Elizabeth isn't gone. **

**How do you know?**

**Because she's here. She's with me.**

I felt a shiver crawl its way up my spine unbidden. Something about the way those words stared out at me unnerved me.

**And where are you? **

I asked, humoring him while trying not to succumb to my fears.

**Play the game. You'll find out. **

I sighed and shut off my phone. I won't let some asshole get the better of me. What kind of a sicko enjoys prank-texting someone about their recently dead sister? And how does he know about that game? I asked myself, looking over at my desktop. No way was going on my computer now. Not after that. I'd go to the library for whatever I needed to do online.

Well, I thought, as I began to change my clothes and brush my hair, it's a small town, as Elizabeth was always saying, and Playful Games might keep info on some of their more regular customers and Liz did go there nearly every pay day.

Perhaps this Ben guy, whoever he is, just called the store and asked if they still had his game and when they told him no, he got the info about Elizabeth and…I stopped. Wait a minute. I turned to look at my now-dead phone laying on the bed where I'd dropped it after shutting it down. It's shiny black glass screen reflecting the ceiling of my bedroom. I never registered an account with Playful Games. Ben wouldn't even know my email address. Maybe Liz's, sure, but not mine. And it was to my address that message had been sent to.

I finished changing and grabbed my purse from the floor by my bedroom door where I'd last left it. No way was I playing into whatever sick game that joker wanted. But, the co-incidence of his name being the same as the one on that game's save file, and even the fact that he seemed to know about my sister buying that game at all, was a little too weird for my taste. I knew anyone could find out about Elizabeth's death by opening a newspaper or turning on the news so that part didn't freak me out as much.

But, I did want answers and wanted them now.

"Where are you off to, honey?" I met my Dad in the hallway as he was heading back from the bathroom, his hair freshly washed, wrapped in a towel around his slightly pudgy middle.

"Oh, gross, Dad!" I averted my eyes, "Go get dressed! I'm going to the library to look up some books I need,"

"Oh," he seemed as embarrassed as I was, scooting past me towards his and my mother's bedroom, "Remember what your mom said, Davie. Be careful!"

"You be careful, too!" I called, heading for the hall closet and my thick grey poncho, "I won't be gone long. I promise!"

I pulled my sister's knit cap over my head for good luck and just to have a bit of her with me, I guess. It had snowed a little as I napped and as I walked the short distance from the front porch to my car, my shoes crunched dead leaves and frost. I had to use my scrapper from the glove compartment to wipe off the windshield and back window of my little black Passat. I slipped into the driver's seat and felt a pang of sadness and regret bubbling up from my insides to lodge in my throat at the sight of the empty passenger's seat.

A balled up recite lay on the seat and I picked it up and unfolded it, smoothing it out against my jeans. It was from Playful Games. I knew it was the recite from Elizabeth's purchases there the day she died. I fisted the thin paper and shoved it into the glove compartment with the scrapper and my car's insurance papers.

I rubbed at the hot tears building up at the corners of my eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm down enough to drive safely. I knew I couldn't change the past or bring my sister back, but I was determined to find out why she had to die. Was it just a random act of the universe? If this Jeff person were in another neighborhood at the time, would she have been spared and some other family torn to emotional shreds over their loss? I had to conclude the answer was most likely yes, and then I reminded myself that my family was still in danger. Jeff almost never left witnesses alive. I had made sure to lock everything up before leaving the house and my Dad had a handgun he kept in his nightstand drawer.

It had never been used that I knew of, but we all knew how to use it just in case. He had insisted on giving each of us lessons in gun safety when we, Elizabeth and I, were old enough to understand. He never kept it a secret from us, explaining later on that it's far safer to know and understand than not know and accidentally stumble upon it and believe it to be a toy to play with. So, I was worried, of course, but not that much for my father. He was a fairly large man who had a gun he knew how to use. This Jeff guy was still human right? If it came down to it, he couldn't survive a round to the head, right?

I felt a sudden need to hear my mother's voice and to check up on her. I glanced at the clock on the dash and fished out my phone while I waited for the car's engine to heat up. It was going on 11:30. She'd be just about to take her lunch. I hit the speed dial for her cell number and held the phone ton my ear, counting the rings as I waited.

"Davie? Are you all right, honey?" her voice sounded tinny through the tiny speaker and I released the breath I hadn't even realized I'd been holding, "What's going on?"

"M-Mom?" I choked out, I hadn't realized just how much that odd Cleverbot exchange had gotten to me, as well as everything else just piled up on top of it. I thought I was done with crying, I thought I'd cried myself dry these past few weeks, but I was coming to realize that a few weeks was a drop in the bucket when it came to the time needed for grief.

"I-I just needed to hear your voice," I said, barely stopping myself from blurting out about that weird chat experience. I didn't want to scare my mother more than she already was. I didn't think she'd understand anyway, or chalk it up to my nerves and a big co-incidence.

"I'm right here, sweetheart," she said and my heart nearly broke for the sound of the love and fear behind her words, "Do you need me to come home? Maybe it was too soon to…"

"N-no," I cut her off, sniffling loudly, "I'm okay now, Mom. Like you said last week; crazy serial killer or not, we still have to eat and pay the bills. You need to work. I'll be fine,"

"Are you sure?" she asked, and when I answered in the affirmative she reminded me to be careful and assured me that she would do the same, "When you're ready, you should look into trying to get your old job back, Davie. It would really help us out a lot, you know,"

"I know," I agreed, not in the least bit ready to go back to work or school, "I have to go, Mom. I'll see you when you get home tonight,"

"I love you, baby girl," she said before hanging up, but not before I could hear the tears in her own voice.

I pressed the end call button on the touch screen and nearly jumped when my notifications chime rung once and a new text message popped up.

**I'm waiting. **

Well, wait all you want, I thought when I noticed the return name on the message; BEN. I deleted the text without replying and almost instantly a barrage of texts spammed my phone, one popping up at lightning speed right after the other.

**Don't **

**Think**

**You**

**Can **

**Just**

**Ignore**

**Me**

**You **

**Little**

**Bitch! **

Watch me! I defiantly shut off my phone and shoved it into the bottom of my purse. I flipped on the car stereo and fiddled with the dials to find something, anything, relaxing to listen to so I wouldn't end up crashing the car due to anxiety, fear and my sudden emerging anger. All the stations seemed to be nothing but static.

I checked to be sure I was on the FM stations and growled under my breath. Must be a fallen power line. Just as I thought this, several voices, most sounding mechanical, almost robotic, piled up one on top of the other like sound files overlapping, spilled through my car's speakers;

**Help…. Me…!**

**Play… the… game!**

My body went rigid with fear as my blood turned as cold as the frost outside my now-fogged-up car windows. I had to listen closely, but, one of those voices….I knew it like I knew my own. I turned the radio off with shaking hands and pulled hurriedly away from my house. Was this BEN connected with my sister's murder? Did he know Jeff the killer? Were they working together?

I had never believed in ghosts or the paranormal, but, given what I've seen and heard lately, and my mind instantly began to replay other incidences around the house and especially near Elizabeth's room that've been happening that I'd disregarded as tricks of my fragile state of mind, since my sister's passing, I'm starting to swing towards the direction of at least a little less skeptical than before.

There just had to be answers, I thought as I pulled into the scant traffic of our small town, I need answers. I thought I knew exactly where to start. I turned the front of the little car in the direction of Playful Games Game Store.


End file.
